


Scorch: Crimson

by DR45 (orphan_account)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drabble, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Keith's an emo orphan, Post Season 3, he deserves love, somebody give him a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 14:30:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11991765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DR45
Summary: Because somewhere along the way, he’d accepted that ‘family’ was yet another thing he would never attain.





	Scorch: Crimson

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my ongoing series, 'To Follow the Sky.' I've included some headcanons in this hehe.  
> Comments and constructive criticism are very much appreciated!  
> Disclaimer: I don't own VLD or any of its characters  
> Welcome to Crimson.

 

The Red Paladin is fire, moving with searing determination, burning with a crimson blaze. He moves through opponents like flame itself; it's a rapid dance that flows through enemies and leaves nothing unscathed. Blazing in his eyes are the fires of will and unrelenting determination.

The Red Paladin is resolve.

* * *

He barely remembers when he had something called 'family.'

'Family' was a mother's kiss on his forehead, so quick and so faint that he doesn't remember.

'Family' was when his father left him on a doorstep to a large, slightly dilapidated building, telling him gently to ' _be good, be nice_ -'

'Family' was when his father left him standing alone in front of an orphanage at the bare age of four.

The only thing he has left of this 'family' is an engraved blade.

* * *

He remembers, barely, the hushed and quiet mutterings, sympathetic gazes flung his way.

_"Poor child…"_

_"... orphan… so young…"_

He grits his teeth and prays for them to shut up.

He doesn't need their pity.

* * *

He tries to be good, he really does.

His first foster home is nice, a mother and a father with one other kid. They take him in happily, gushing to him earnestly that he would love it with them.

He's surprised when he believes them, looks into the warmth in their eyes and smiles, and he finds himself grinning back.

(He sleeps with a knife tucked under his pillow).

He stays for two months; during the time, he learns to read, to write, to do basic math.

In the end, he's taken back to the system.

 _'No room,'_  they'd said, eyes averted, refusing to look at him.

 _Yeah, right,_  he'd thought bitterly as they disappeared through the doors.  _You don't want me._

* * *

The list goes on from there.

He goes to and leaves foster home after foster home, parents who had promised to keep him and then left, breaking his trust, his hope.

(He tried to be good, he really did; he'd smile, he'd listen and do his chores, so why did nobody  _want him-_ )

Eventually, he stops hoping.

Eventually, he stops trying.

A foster family (yet another one to add to his ongoing list), takes him in with bright smiles and emptiness in their eyes.

They drive him to their house, usher him in as they talk with sickeningly sweet tones, showing him their home.

A bed, a bookshelf, a promise.

_"This is your room now!"_

He gets into a fight, anger and the pain of being cast aside  _so many times_  biting at his heart, driving him on.

He finds himself back on the doorstep of the orphanage the very next day.

Because in the end, it didn't matter how much he tried; he simply wasn't  _wanted_.

* * *

He stops believing in family.

At the age of fifteen, he runs away from the system. His only possessions are some clothes and a gleaming silver blade he keeps hidden, wrapped in bandages and tucked into his belt.

Somehow, he gets by.

(He learns to fight on the streets).

The brutality of life was something that was painfully clear to him, and reality was what it was; harsh and unforgiving.

* * *

He meets Takashi Shirogane at the age of seventeen, and Shiro changes his life.

The street is deserted when he stumbles past.

Blood drips from his arm, and he hisses as another twinge of pain throbs through it, using his other hand to keep pressure on the slash wound.

He hadn't noticed that the other man was armed with a knife.

The streets are deadly, sometimes filled with savagery. Just because he lived in a relatively populated area doesn't change that.

"Are you okay?"

The voice causes him to jolt; he hadn't noticed the footsteps approaching through the pain radiating up his arm.

"... I'm alright."

The words are bitten out, knife sharp and diamond hard. He doesn't need this stranger's help, he tells himself even as a wave of lightheadedness causes him to stagger slightly.

"H-Hey!"

He mutters a curse when he realizes the darkness is approaching,  _fast_ , and he can't  _stop it_ , curses himself for being so  _careless_  and losing too much blood.

On the streets, you couldn't be weak and survive.

* * *

The first thing he does when consciousness returns to him is lash out because everything is  _wrong_ , he doesn't know where he  _is_ -

"Woah there," a figure stands to the side, arms raised in friendly surrender. "You're okay."

A glance tells him that the figure is older than him, a man in his late teens or early adulthood. He keeps a neutral expression on his face, a mop of dark hair curling down his forehead.

"What happened?"

The words are hesitant as he relaxes, casting a wary gaze around his surroundings. He's not used to this kindness, not after all those years by himself.

"Well, you were bleeding out on the street," the figure cautions, fixing him with an equally intrigued look. "So I carried you home and patched you up."

"Who are you?"

The man smiles, and it's an earnest, honest smile with no malice.

"I'm Shirogane. Takashi Shirogane, but you can call me Shiro."

Shiro became, in a way, his first friend, the older figure he never had.

* * *

Shiro is the one who introduces him to the Galaxy Garrison.

He takes the test; passes it with flying colors.

 _Prodigy_ , they call him, because he's never done this in his life, never taken classes or instruction, simply relies on his instincts and trusts his gut.

* * *

They're sitting on the roof now, gazing up at the star speckled sky.

The sky is a swirl of blue and black and purple, little diamonds mixed in, and Shiro's reaching up, fascination glittering in his eyes as he reaches a hand up as if to touch the stars, the galaxies themselves, a dreamy look on his face. And he's talking, excitement staining his tone as he speaks about his ambitions and his dreams.

"What about you? Ever dreamed about flying through space and touching the stars?"

He startles slightly when Shiro turns to him, tears his gaze from the splattered skies.

Shiro's quiet when he contemplates the question, because he'd never  _dreamed_ , had never been taught how to.

_But now…_

He looks up again, looks at the stars spiraling endlessly in the sky, so close he can almost touch them with his fingertips.

A smile finds its way on his face, violet eyes softening in the night.

"Yeah, that'd be pretty cool."

* * *

Shiro disappears.

Shiro disappears, and Keith bites his lip until he draws blood, feels his fists clench tightly at his side and feels something shatter because he's reliving it all over again, because it's like the time when his father left him at the orphanage, all those years ago.

He curses the world for being so cruel to him, and for the first time in many years, Keith lets rage drive him once again, lets the fire in his heart urge himself forward.

He wants to bring the world to  _dust_.

He's expelled from the Garrison due to 'disciplinary issues.'

* * *

He learns to live in the desert, alone.

It's really not much different than before, and he chooses a spot where he can still keep track of the news at Garrison, while also staying under the Garrison's radar.

It's there when he becomes aware of another existence, some strange energy, strange  _power_ , radiating out through the desert.

He begins his search.

* * *

Shiro returns, but he's no longer the same.

He's almost paranoid, yelling at the researchers about 'aliens' and a 'Voltron.'

They brush him off, but Keith believes him.

He breaks into his confinement area, and is about to leave with Shiro when three new faces show themselves.

Granted, they look vaguely familiar, but he's really never bothered to get too close with anyone at the Garrison.

Their names are Hunk, Lance, and Pidge, and they're all parts of Voltron, like he is. Allura and Coran accepts them all with open arms.

Somewhere along the way, they develop bonds that run deeper than blood.

( _This_ , he promises to himself,  _he will not let this be taken away_.)

He becomes the Red Paladin.

* * *

It's in space where he realizes that there's a connection between the aliens and the blade his father gave him so long ago.

The blade lies still, wrapped in bandages, but he unwraps them and considers the glowing purple symbol engraved on the hilt.

* * *

He was always looking for answers on his heritage, but he never,  _never_  thought that it would lie with the Galrans, their enemies.

He's panting, breath not coming easily, his vision hazy as his opponents stand before him. His shoulder is throbbing, his body aching, every fiber in his being screaming at him to stop,  _to stop_ -

 _No_ , he tells himself fiercely.  _I want answers._

Because if there was anything that he had learned from his difficult past, it was that you could always bleed a little more.

He stands straighter, calculating his enemies, and lunges, throwing the blade with all of his might.

* * *

He doesn't remember passing out, but suddenly Shiro's there, his hand outstretched, smiling.

"You don't have to keep this up."

Shiro's words stop him right in his tracks, and he looks at him with bewilderment.

"What are you talking about?"

"Just give them the knife, and we can get out of here."

His words sting more than a little, and he raises himself up, injuries forgotten.

"I can't give it to them, Shiro."

He speaks tiredly, but each word is enunciated with his resolve.

"What is it with you and that thing?" Shiro's voice takes on a curt tone, irritation leaking through.

"It's the only connection I have left of my past," he glances down at the gleaming luxite, the emblem on the hilt glowing. "It's my chance to learn who I really am!"

His voice takes on a desperate lilt as he speaks, and pleads, silently,  _please understand_ -

"You know exactly who you are. A Paladin of Voltron. We're all the family you need!"

 _Family_. The word burns, stirring up fragmented memories and shattered pasts. Yes, they were like family. But some questions needed answers.

"Shiro," he says, and there's defeat in his tone. "You're like a brother to me. But I  _have_  to do this."

"No, you don't, so just give them the knife! You're only thinking of yourself, as usual!"

Shiro's words are honestly like a slap to the face, and he almost flinches because this sears him more deeply than anything else could. Because this was  _Shiro_ , and he should be the one who understands the most.

 _I need to know_.

He's tired of not knowing, he really is, and he tears his gaze away.

"I've made my choice."

Shiro looks at him blankly, dark eyes glinting like obsidian, rock hard and expressionless.

"Then you've chosen to be alone."

There's finality in his tone, and he doesn't even look back as he turns around and walks away.

It hurts, it really does.

For a moment, he contemplates the blade, looks at Shiro's departing back. He  _needs_  answers, but Shiro…

"Shiro, wait!"

He reaches out, runs forward, and finds himself disappearing into a swirl of azure and white; memories in his mind that he locked away so carefully and tightly, they come back to haunt him.

* * *

"Keith."

It's his father.

His _father_ , and it occurs to him right then and there that he never remembered what his father even looked like.

"Dad?"

Eyes widening, he steps forward, completely baffled, throat beginning to close up until he suddenly hears the unmistakable roar of explosions, the glow of fire burning. A rumble shakes through the small shack, but his father remains steady, undeterred.

"What's going on outside?"

"Don't worry about that," his father says easily, a slight Southern lilt in his voice. "You'll be fine as long as you stay here. Don't you wanna catch up?"

It's so familiar and so warm that he almost believes him, feels his voice breaking as he replies.

"Of course I do."

He feels himself sinking into the comforting lull, feels something in his chest, his  _heart_ , stirring.

"Son, so many years have passed. I have so much to tell you."

Another juddering rumble tears through the small building, and the walls vibrate with the sheer intensity of it.

It's enough to snap him out of his reverie.

"What  _is_  that?"

"Everything's fine."

The rumbles don't stop this time, but his father reassures him even as their shack shakes and judders.

He rips open the screen covering the window to reveal Galra troops marching and decimating the land.

"I've gotta go! There's people that need me out there!"

He whips around, only to see his father holding a blade of Marmora, symbol on hilt pulsing a bright bluish purple.

"Your mother will be here soon."

The statement makes him hesitate, and he feels yearning blossom in his chest because it's his  _mother_ -

Another quake, and this time he looks out to see Red, balanced precariously on the cliff edge. _No,_  he thinks as he turns around and again presses his father for answers. _They can't have her._

The only thing his father answers with is "She'll be here soon."

Suddenly, the room darkens, everything taking on a hue of deadly red. One second, two, and then a blaze of light flashes through the windows, a roar thundering through the building. Dust ruffles through the land, discoloring the glass on the windows.

"Dad, I have to go."

His words echo with his resolve, and he whirls around and reaches for the door, fingertips brushing the doorknob.

"You go through that door, and you'll never find who you really are."

His father's eyes are heartbreakingly serious, the blade of Marmora glittering temptingly in his hands. He pauses for the barest of moments, before closing his eyes and turning the knob.

"Goodbye, Dad."

It's so, so painful.

* * *

Shiro's there when he wakes up again, but this time, they're surrounded by Blade of Marmora soldiers.

"Move out of the way. We're leaving!" Shiro's yelling at them even as they advance, and Keith becomes aware of the rubble and debris falling as the building shudders.

"The blade does not belong to you. You _failed_  to awaken it!"

"What does that mean?"

He's angry now, because he's searching for answers and they keep giving  _riddles that he doesn't understand_ -

"Give up the blade!"

A soldier lunges at them, their own dagger gleaming dangerously. Shiro meets him in the middle of his lunge, cybernetic arm glowing a violent purple.

"Stop."

His tone, although subdued, carries an angry and despondent tint. He raises his eyes, raises his blade, and there's certainty as he speaks.

"Take the blade. I know who I am. This doesn't change that."

Even as he speaks, the emblem pulsates, shimmers to life. White light, mixed with blue and violet, overtakes the blade, the symbol glowing,  _burning_  with a searing blaze.

The blade disappears; in its place is a long dagger, shaped like a curved scimitar, piercing and deadly.

The Blade of Mamora soldiers look on with bewilderment, even with their masks, Keith can tell that they're positively baffled.

"Impossible," the leader murmurs, lights in his helmet glowing softly. "You've awakened the blade, which means Galran blood flows in your veins…?"

* * *

His veins run with the blood of their enemies.

It's a concept that takes a while for his team to grasp and embrace, understandably.

Lance and Hunk take it well, although they prod at his newly learned heritage in a teasing manner.

_Oh, boy, I always knew there was something that seemed off about you. And it wasn't just that dumb mullet._

Pidge… well, Pidge can't look at him for a day, and she keeps her eyes averted as she passes him. But on the next day, she stomps up to him and berates him with,  _'Keith is still Keith, even though he's part Galra. You're the Red Paladin, and we need you.'_

Coran and Shiro are no exception to Pidge's assertion, and they treat him no different.

Allura takes it the hardest, refusing to look at him every time he walks into the room, every time she calls the team together for a meeting.

Something sinks in his heart each time she avoids him, and he tells himself that he understands, after all, he's part Galran, part of the race that wiped Allura's kind out.

Allura stops him a couple days later, and apologizes for her recent actions.

And, well, it's a little like acceptance.

* * *

He's there now, laughing right along with them.

Shiro, with his serious but gentle demeanor, Lance, with his god awful jokes and puns, Pidge, with her brilliant ideas and calculations. Hunk's there, trying out new recipes with the space food(seriously, what  _is_  that?), and Allura and Coran look on with amusement.

They're like family to him.

And it's new to him, because somewhere along the way, he'd learned to believe that 'family' was yet another thing that simply remained out of his reach.

 _But this is nice_ , he thinks as he leans back, a smile curling at his lips.

It really is.

* * *

The Red Paladin fights like flame itself, ruthless and unforgiving.

The Red Paladin fights for his family, fights so that he doesn't lose everything he's obtained.

Because he  _understands_  how it feels to lose everything. He knows how it feels when everything is wrenched from your grasp, and he promises himself, promises, it won't happen again.

And, maybe, things just might be okay.

* * *

-END-

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the ride.


End file.
